Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

Even after an in-depth discussion with Gianna, Harry developed a unique divination spell of his own, bringing a sense of structure to the otherwise chaotic art of shamanistic prophecy.

"Oh, centaur divination, you mean?" Hagrid shrugged as they walked through Diagon Alley. "You know, I can't use magic myself, but even if I could, I'd never make sense of what centaurs say. Honestly, not many wizards can."

"They're always going on about the stars—too bright, too dim, something like that—or they'll say things you can't make heads or tails of," Hagrid sighed. "I can't understand it myself, but there are plenty of wizards who swear by centaur divination."

"But honestly, Harry, you didn't need to buy those herbs," Hagrid said, glancing at the bag of lavender and sage in Harry's hand. "The Forbidden Forest has plenty of that stuff. Once you're back at Hogwarts, I could gather some for you—though I didn't think you'd be interested in divination."

"I have a few ideas I want to try," Harry replied vaguely, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere. "The Forbidden Forest—does it really have so much good stuff?"

Well, maybe it wasn't a complete change of topic. Harry was genuinely curious.

The name alone conjured images of magical herbs, rare and priceless specimens, or perhaps even a variety of magical creatures classified by wizards.

Just the word "Forbidden" felt enticing.

"Hey, Harry, your eyes are practically glowing, you know that?" Hagrid laughed heartily, then warned, "But don't get any ideas about playing in the Forbidden Forest. Students aren't allowed in there, and I'm not about to let you in either. Merlin knows it nearly killed me trying to get the Weasley twins out of there once."

Hagrid sighed heavily.

"Still," he added thoughtfully, "if the stars align and the centaurs hold one of their rituals, I could take you to see how they divine the future. You've got quite the reputation with them, and I'm on decent terms with the centaurs." Hagrid muttered under his breath, "At least they're more reliable than the Divination professor..."

"Hogwarts has Divination classes?" Harry asked, catching that last part. "Though the professor doesn't sound particularly reliable?"

"Don't ask, Harry! Don't ask!" Hagrid exclaimed loudly. "I'm not one to bad-mouth my colleagues!"

A fine sentiment indeed. Though, judging by his reaction, Hagrid had already said plenty.

"Alright, we won't talk about it," Harry said, tucking the lavender back into his bag. "Let's go withdraw some money—I can't wait."

Turning coins into gear and supplies, diving into adventures, and then turning treasures from adventures back into coins—Harry suddenly felt like he'd returned to a familiar rhythm since stepping into Diagon Alley.

Now, it was time to gather his seed money for the journey ahead.

Harry realized that it wasn't just his body that felt young again—his heart did too. The connection between body and spirit was undeniable.

At least for now, he felt the same excitement he'd felt when he first left Thunder Bluff to explore the outside world.

From Thunder Bluff to Felwood Forest, from Kalimdor to the Eastern Kingdoms... That sense of joy stayed with Harry until he saw the goblins at Gringotts.

Apologies—I mean goblins.

So similar. Too similar.

Aside from being a bit taller, they were strikingly similar to the goblins Harry remembered.

Especially the warning about thieves on the wall near the entrance and the goblins' dismissive attitudes when they glanced at Harry and Hagrid's clothing.

Harry never imagined that his first reminder of Azeroth in this world would come from goblins. Instinctively, he clutched his nonexistent wallet—then remembered he didn't have one yet.

Wonderful.

The inheritance Harry's parents had left him was far greater than he'd imagined. After a harrowing ride on the mine cart, the vault door opened to reveal a literal mountain of gold coins. Silver and bronze coins barely caught his attention.

Honestly, the Gringotts carts reminded Harry of the goblin racing events—those wild death-defying tournaments where only the craziest goblins participated, aiming to destroy their rivals and cross the finish line alive.

Fast, thrilling, and nearly as stomach-churning as being snatched mid-air by a dragon.

After gaining a rough understanding of the wizarding world's economy, Harry judged that the money in front of him was more than enough for seven years of school and plenty of leisure—and he wouldn't need to work for years after graduation.

On top of that, there were magical artifacts lining the shelves of the vault. Harry gave them a quick glance but decided to leave them be, focusing instead on stuffing Hagrid's pouch with gold coins. He even insisted on paying for the lavender and sage, despite Hagrid's protests.

After all, Harry suspected the pouch itself was quite valuable. While it wasn't the kind of bag he remembered from Azeroth, divided into countless compartments, it had a similar function: deceptively small but capable of holding a great deal.

Another hair-raising mine cart ride later, Harry accompanied Hagrid to retrieve something from a deeper vault. Hagrid was tight-lipped about what it was, and Harry didn't pry.

Tauren know how to respect privacy.

"Sorry, Harry," Hagrid said shakily after they finally exited Gringotts. "I think I need a drink—you know, that damned cart nearly did me in. Why don't you go buy your robes? That might take a bit of time."

"Completely understandable," Harry agreed, his own complexion pale. "Don't worry, Hagrid, I won't wander off."

"Alright... See you in a bit?" Hagrid hesitated, taking in Harry's unusually composed demeanor.

"Of course, see you soon."

Watching Hagrid's slightly unsteady figure disappear toward the Leaky Cauldron, Harry turned back and re-entered Gringotts.

"Sir?" The goblin at the door looked puzzled as Harry approached. "Is something the matter?"

"I need a favor," Harry said, brushing back his hair to reveal the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

This scar, present since birth, was said to mark him as the vanquisher of the Dark Lord.

After his earlier experience at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry fully understood how significant this scar was to the wizarding world.

"By Merlin!" Predictably, the goblin's eyes widened. "You're... Harry Potter!"

It was a reaction Harry was growing used to—people gasping, lowering their voices, and whispering his name in awe.

"Yes, that's me," Harry replied calmly, letting his hair fall back into place. He extended a hand toward the goblin. "I need some help—would you be willing?"

"Of course!" The goblin's demeanor shifted instantly, becoming warm and eager. "It would be my honor to assist the famous Harry Potter. My name is Copperclaw. What can I do for you?"

Naturally, Copperclaw's sudden enthusiasm wasn't just due to Harry's name or scar. It was the gold Galleon Harry had discreetly pressed into his hand during the handshake.

Harry was an expert at dealing with goblins. He knew they loved wealth in all its forms but were even more enamored by the thrill of acquiring it.

A single Galleon might not bribe a wizard, but for a goblin, it was more than enough—especially for something trivial.

"I've heard that goblins have always been the best craftsmen," Harry said quietly, pulling Copperclaw aside. "Do you know of any reliable smiths? I need a weapon forged—perhaps some armor as well."

Harry hadn't abandoned his plan for self-protection. He had simply taken a different approach.

While he longed to forge his own armor and weapons like he had in Azeroth, he was painfully aware of his current limitations. His young body lacked the strength and stamina for smithing.

But until he could forge his own gear, he wasn't about to leave himself defenseless.

Having deduced from Hagrid's reaction that wizards largely dismissed melee weapons and armor, Harry guessed that blacksmiths had long disappeared from Diagon Alley. Instead, he'd learned through subtle questioning that goblins might still preserve the craft.

"Weapons? Armor?" Copperclaw gave Harry a surprised look, clearly not expecting such a request from a wizard.

"Of course," Copperclaw said with a wide grin. "I know a master smith, but..."

"I'll pay generously—for both his services and yours," Harry said calmly. "But let me remind you, my goblin friend—I'm Harry Potter. Think about the Ministry of Magic."

"...Of course," Copperclaw's smile faltered briefly. He sighed, muttering, "Harry Potter—big name, big trouble. Maybe I shouldn't have taken that Galleon in the first place."

"But if you had the chance again, you'd take it anyway."

"Naturally," Copperclaw replied without hesitation. "Why wouldn't I? Easy money."

Harry had expected no less.

In their agreement, Harry would pay up to a hundred Galleons for a half-plate armor set and a warhammer with a shield—a price three hundred Galleons less than the monthly salary of the Minister of Magic.

For Copperclaw, this was no more than a toy.

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